


I Will Raise Hell

by Reiven



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Casual mentions of violence, Character is Their Own Warning, Daddy Issues, Dark Thoughts, Gen, Murder, Mutilation, POV Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern | Sebastian Verlac, casual mentions of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 10:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12505788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiven/pseuds/Reiven
Summary: Sebastian wanted no one and he trusted no one, except perhaps those that would never be his.He hid everything well behind his new skin; the one that wasn’t blistered and burned and scorched and sloughing off his very bones; the one that was pretty and whole that caused pathetic little mundane girls in the street to giggle sheepishly when he smiled at them as he walked past. He fantasized about carving the flesh from their bones and feeding it to the demon hounds that guarded his Mother’s throne.





	I Will Raise Hell

He had every reason to be jealous of Jace, and he was, after all Jace was the Jonathan that had his father’s love and his father’s respect, while he was just the abomination no one wanted.

He was jealous of Jace, the _other_ Jonathan Christopher, because he had everything that was supposed to be _his_. He had his father’s acceptance and his sister’s love and the respect of the other Shadowhunters and the fear he instilled in Downworlders that rightfully belonged to _him_.

But most of all he had _his_ name. He took _his_ name just like he took everything else. He laid claim to it even though he deserved nothing, the thief.

Jace was the true abomination, but he had everything.

So he killed Jonathan, he cast off that façade and he threw away the name and he took someone else’s, just like Jace took his.

Sebastian was good looking and well liked. He had pretty flaxen hair that he liked to run his fingers through. He had an accent that gave him class and made him seem more extraordinary than he really was. But Sebastian didn’t deserve whatever he had; he was weak and pitiful and pathetic and he whined constantly about the smallest problems. He didn’t deserve what he had so Jonathan took it all. His face, his pretty soft hair, his nice skin and the charming smile and his accent that made everyone he met immediately trust him.

He killed Jonathan and he killed Sebastian and he became him and everyone bought into the lie just as easily.

He hid everything well behind his new skin; the one that wasn’t blistered and burned and scorched and sloughing off his very bones; the one that was pretty and whole that caused pathetic little mundane girls in the street to giggle sheepishly when he smiled at them as he walked past. He fantasized about carving the flesh from their bones and feeding it to the demon hounds that guarded his Mother’s throne.

Isabelle Lightwood was easy enough to win over with his charm; gullible and trusting, the stupid little girl. He could smell the stench of Downworlder filth wafting off her before he was anywhere near the alley.  But she bought into his lie just like the rest of them. He smiled at her and charmed her and wooed her with his pretty accent and his smooth skin and his nice cheekbones and she fell for him as easily as the rest.

He watched her sleep on his sofa, wearing his shirt that was constantly riding up her thigh, exposing her skin that was too smooth and too cold to the touch and too unblemished. She wouldn’t last a minute in hell.

Every night he’d play around with his dagger, slicing jagged cuts into his arm with the scorching red blade and every night he dreamed of flaying her pretty face with it and tossing her into the fire to burn.

He wooed her with his smile and his nice white teeth and she fell for him every single time.

Jace was an abomination and Isabelle—a _stain_ in the grand scheme of things, but Clary… Clary was special: his beautiful, kind sister who loved him still. She wanted to save him. She wanted _him_. He knew she loved him just as he loved her and it meant everything. Mother would like her too, and he so very much wanted them to meet one day. The only thing standing in his way was Jace and Isabelle and _Alec_ the Downworlder loving traitor.

Alec was a betrayer, a traitor to his kind and traitor to his own superiority; romancing with warlock scum and Downworlders who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air. Alec was going to be the first one to die.

But Alec, for all his repugnance and his lack of pride, didn’t fall for his charming smile and his pretty words and his mild demeanour. Alec exuded suspicion and distrust at every turn; he wasn’t won over by his kindly manner or his nice hair and his pretty unblemished skin that smelled of good soaps and woodland scents instead of the sulfuric odours of burned hair and broiled flesh.

He wasn’t won over by _Sebastian_ , and that frustrated as well as intrigued him. He found himself craving that trust, needing that acceptance.

He always wanted what he could never have: his father’s respect and his mother’s love, but he still had a chance with Clary, to win her over, to bring her close. He was her brother and she loved him still, just as he loved her. He still had a chance to kill Jace; to carve his flesh from his bones while keeping him alive to watch, to burn him piece by piece while making him smell his own flesh melt. He still had a chance to make him suffer.

He still had a chance to gain Alec’s trust and his acceptance and to win him over; to bring him in and become his ally, to have him close enough to see the light leave his eyes when he skewered him straight through the heart. That was his short term plan on top of everything else before he razed the entire world to its foundations.

Alec turned out to be as much a fool as the rest of them, but he wasn’t incompetent, only blind and stupid; to have Jace as a Parabatai when Jace deserved nothing but a painful end; to put his trust and give his love to Downworlder filth; to throw away everything he had, everything he worked hard to achieve for _vermin_.

 _He_ understood hard work and tenacity as he understood agony; often times they would come hand in hand, and Alec worked hard and he gave everything but he didn’t understand the power he had in the palm of his hand; he didn’t appreciate it enough. He didn’t value it at all. Alec would die bloody like the rest of them.

When Alec brought him into the fray, there was no feeling of gratification. _The fool_. When Alec put his confidence in him and made him part of the Institute’s security, there was no sense of fulfilment. _The fool_. When Alec trusted him enough to expose his back when it was just the two of them alone in his office, there was no sense of malevolent satisfaction. _The fool_.

But there was _something_ there, kindled like a flickering spark; something deep inside of him untouched by hellfire that razed him to the bones. Something that might have been almost human if he had a shred of humanity left in him; something akin to _pride_ over everything he accomplished. _He_ did it, no one else.

He made the untrusting Alec Lightwood trust him enough to put himself in a vulnerable position, completely exposed. _He_ did it, no one else.

So he sheathed his blade and removed his hand, crossing them benignly behind him as he regarded Alec’s exposed, unprotected back, and he did nothing.

“Thank you… for putting so much trust in me. I know what a risk it is to trust someone you don’t know, but I appreciate your confidence and I will do my best to prove that it isn’t misplaced.”

“Good to know,” Alec said. “You’re excused.”

And so he left with a smile, genuine enough on the surface while his soul was like molten lava bubbling under his skin. He could feel the flames lapping at the palms of his hands and he yearned for the comfort. The handle of the blade was too cold and it burned him like frostbite.

Perhaps once the world had fallen, once the Downworld was gone and the traitor Shadowhunters along with it, once hell had been rained upon the cities and razed the buildings to the ground; perhaps he’d ask Mother to gift Alexander to him.

The things he could do with his trust then.

**End.**


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